Arianna Marie Grey
by rachel618
Summary: Ana and Christian's 18 year old daughter, Arianna, is fed up with her parents and wants to finally live a life of her own. M for language/content just to be sure...
1. Prologue

I cannot believe this is happening to me.

Oh, what, you ask? Just another day of my pathetic life. But today is different, only because I'm positive it absolutely cannot get any worse.

You see, my father is a little...protective. And obsessive, annoyingly so. He just can't give me a break! Honestly.

My name is Arianna. I am an 18-year-old girl, with my mother's blueish eyes and my father's coppery hair. If you haven't guessed already, I am, unfortunately, Arianna Marie Grey, the daughter of the oh-so-mysterious-enigmatic-mercurial-billionaire Christian Grey. My mother, Ana, is almost, _almost, _alright. She can sometimes be okay, manageable even, but then she goes on her tangents about how wonderful and, (ew), sexy my father is. They've been at it for a while. If they think I can't hear the noises they make at night, seriously. The walls in this Seattle studio apartment are curiously, shamelessly thin.

The two lovebirds met when my Mom was graduating college. Incidentally, she and my father are making me begin my Freshman Year at Washington State University in the fall, following in her footsteps.

Anyway, back to how hopeless my life seems at the moment. I'm going on a date tonight. But like I said, my father is ridiculously possessive, overprotective, all of the creepy, stalkerish traits; you name em, he's got em. For one thing, he's always yelling at me to clear my plate, whether I'm hungry or not. Even when I'm not particularly enjoying the meal. It's weird. For another, he always, always finds a way to make whoever I'd like to go out on dates with cancel. He's got shittons of cash, my idiot Dad, so I'm nearly positive he pays all of my...suitors off, so they never have the opportunity to see me again.

No matter how many times I try to argue and prove that I am actually old enough to date guys, my father seems to think his points are irrefutable. It's infuriating. He's always had this complex, apparently, as my mother attests to it. I don't know how the fuck she's put up with him for this long. If I were her, I would have ditched him the second I noticed his odd behavior. But then again, that is the difference between me and my dearest mother. I am sane, and she is not.

I yell and yell that my Mom was only a few years older than me when she met my Dad and was introduced to all sorts of freaky shit. Oh, don't kid yourself. I know all about it. They've tried to hide their odd...habits from me, but I walked into this lovely little place we have...walls painted bloodred, chains and shackles all along the walls...when I was eight and my daddy was away on a business trip. I am not one to have heart-to-hearts with my parents, so I looked up everything on my fancy computer that Daddy bought his doting daughter when she turned 7, a gift for not being the most wonderful father, I know now. He's got this habit of buying things for the people he cares about to overcompensate for the fact that he is a shit father, husband, brother, son, whatever. Just shit. Anyway, I became educated in the whole BDSM thing by the time I was ten, and my parents have trouble hiding their little...escapades from me. I assume they've given up by now.

But the boy I'd like to see tonight is different. I really like him. I don't understand why my father is so hell-bent on preserving my innocence. He doesn't seem to realize that I am 18, a woman, now, legally. Fuck, my father is so controlling, it makes me want to break through the walls of his swanky ass apartment. Sure, this place is mine too, but it's never felt like mine. Whatever. I just want to go on one date with this ONE boy, and have my parents be okay with it. Jeez, it's not like I'm going to go off and get knocked up or something. My family has been able to have their fun...

Little do Mr. and Mrs. Grey know, I'm about to get the fuck out of here and have some fun of my own. Laters, baby.


	2. Chapter 1

"Arianna!"

I ignore the singsong voice, plugging my headphones in and raising the volume on my iPod as loud as it may go.

"Arianna?" my mother calls again.

How is it that I can still hear her when my iPod is practically making my eardrums thrum?

"What?!" I groan through my closed door. She'll come in, any second now. 3…2…1…

The handle on my door jiggles briefly; my mother does her two-timed usual rap and enters. Regardless of my grumbled answer on the other side of the door, Mom never fails to enter the room.

"Hey, Ari." She stands in my doorway awkwardly, talking with her hands folded in front of her. She shifts her weight to and fro, rocking back and forth on her feet. She's nervous, uncomfortable. I keep my headphones in and pretend I can't hear her, even though I don't fail to note her uneven breathing. I give her a pointed look and she flushes and stares down at her bare feet. Jeez, you'd think she'd have gotten over that, it's like she's a little girl. I roll my eyes and yank my headphones out, steeling myself for the inevitable I'm-sorry-Daddy-acts-like-this-but-you-must-understand-you-are-his-little-girl talk.

"Yeah, Mom?"

"You…okay?" Her eyes scan my face quickly and then stare at her toes again, which are curling into the plushy surface of my carpet. I can't help but soften…a little. With my mom, it's hard to stay brutally angry, cold. I guess that is a trait I've inherited from Dad. I roll my eyes at the thought, and she smirks.

"What?" I snap, and the amused look is gone so fast it's as if it was never there.

"You…you rolled your eyes."

My eyebrow lifts, angular, in question.

"That's something I do, when I'm frustrated. It just makes me smile because…sometimes, I see a little glimpse of me in you. It still catches me off guard; it's a lovely feeling. You'll understand, one day."

I say nothing. She continues.

"But then, other times, you are so like your father. Cold when you want to be, like when you snapped just now. And your mood shifts often, too. Having two of you in the house is quite a challenge, sometimes." She smirks again.

I give my mother a onceover before speaking. She's wearing her favorite pair of sweats and an old tank top. This is one thing I will always admire about my mother. She will never change. I'll never admit that, though.

"So, you come in here to tell me that I am cold and moody. Thanks, Mom. I value your opinion, surely. Now, if that will be all…" I want to laugh at myself. If I _am _really like him, it certainly came out in that little quip. It doesn't make my mom smile, though, but causes her to falter, to backtrack.

"Wait, Ari, I'm sorry, I just came here to apologize…about tonight."

"It's not you who needs to do the apologizing." I look up at my mom again, earnestly this time. I don't always aim to hurt her feelings. It's just that she gets caught in the crossfire too often. My father and I clash, and she never knows whose side to choose.

"I know, but…you know how your father is." She stares at me, motherly blue eyes to frustrated ones.

"Unfortunately, yes, I do know how he is," I start. "And if I recall, he is the reason I have been living such a sheltered, boring-ass-hell life. Thank you for marrying such a control freak, Mom. Honestly. You couldn't do any better than that?"

She looks genuinely hurt, and I lose some of the anger propelling me into the middle of my rambling tirade. Her eyebrows furrow. "Ma, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm just angry. I wish we didn't have to deal with his…behaviors."

My mom ignores my apology, looking bemused. After a moment, she speaks, slowly, deliberately, like she's choosing her words very carefully, while swallowing something dry and painful in the back of her throat. "After all Christian and I give you, you think your life is…boring? Really?"

"Mom! You're clearly not hearing me—"

But she just continues, looking almost confused. I panic, frustrated and tempted to hop off the bed and hug her all at once.

"We travel the world, give you a wonderful education, he spoils you _rotten_…"

"Seriously, Mom, please—"

"Gives you anything you want!"

"_Just listen to me, Mom, I swear…" _I'm getting angry now, heated. I can practically feel my eyes harden, and the tendon in the side of my neck tenses as I seethe. But she just keeps going. And going. And I lose it. _The Grey Temper, _the tabloids call it. It's inherited.

"Maybe I don't _want _to be spoiled!" I'm screaming, and I see Mrs. Jones scamper past my doorway, avoiding confrontation. "Maybe, _maybe, _I'd like to be _normal! Christ._" My hands move up to my head involuntarily and fist a bit of my hair. I hop off my bed, begin pacing now.

"Do you even know me? _Honestly, Ma. Look. Look at me._" She's been looking from my face to her feet at lightening speed. Her head pops up, shocked and I know she sees my father in my fury, my frustration. "Have you ever thought I'd like to lead a normal life? Yeah? I didn't sign up for this," I wave my hands ambiguously through the air, gesturing around the room, to all of my fancy things, the ridiculous apartment. " I can't even have friends, Mom. They all look at me like I'm crazy, avoid me like the plague. And then there're the paparazzi. I'm not even in a movie! I'm famous because all of the goddamn _money_ _my daddy makes._

"Do you know how frustrating that is?" I groan and stamp my foot, like a child. "I can't even make a name for myself. _He's _already done it for me." I pinch the bridge of my nose and squint my eyes, take a deep breath before I face my mother again. I look up, and her eyes are wide, like a doe's. I slow my breathing. She doesn't say anything, just looks me over like she's confused yet paradoxically beginning to comprehend something at the same time.

"I just….finally, somebody likes me. Likes me! Can look past all of this shit, and I can't even act on it." My mom's lip quivers and I continue talking, calmer now. Defeated, and I feel angry tears brim up in my eyes. "I can't learn what it feels like to be just a girl who's with a boy. It's infuriating. He won't even let me give it a _try._"

Mom hovers near the end of my bed now, as I've plopped down on my plushy comforter and buried my head in my pillows, like a proper teenager filled with angst. If I weren't so annoyed, I'd find the whole situation laughable. _What _a cliché. 

She doesn't know whether to climb on my bed and comfort me, or stand by aimlessly and watch a breakdown ensue. I've never been dependent on obvious affection; in fact, it puts me off. I'm like both of my parents in that way, I suppose.

But Mom doesn't even have to deliberate for more than a second. She doesn't even have to try, because…

"Ana?"

There's no answer, and I turn my head from my pillow to see my mother's reaction. She stares at me for a moment, torn. And there is something in her eyes. I think it's compassion…

"Ana!"

…mixed with crumbling resolve. And then it's gone, as she turns her head away from her daughter and towards the door, so quickly it's like the moment never even happened at all.

My father now stands in the hallway, effectively wiping my mother's face void of all previous emotion with his presence. It just makes me cry harder.


	3. Chapter 2

Dad looks from me, to Ana, to me again. His brow furrows and he runs his hand through his hair. He takes my mother's hands, which are wringing in front of the little tie on her sweats. My mom, she's incredible, she doesn't even have the grace to look sorry for me anymore. She's just so enamored with my father. I scream into my pillow. The _two _of them are keeping me from having that. And although it may not seem like it all the time, I want it. I want it more than anything in the world.

Mr. Christian Grey looks up at me, his forehead creased as my mother startles and pulls her hands abruptly out of my father's grasp as she hears my frustration, unleashed into my crumpled pillow.

"Ana," my father starts, "I'll take care of this." He says it to her as if I'm a chore, another thing on a billionaire's lengthy to-do list. I'm not looking at either of them at this point; my face is lodged into my pillow so that all I can see is blackness. I hear her walk away, head down the stairs of the swanky apartment towards the kitchen. I even hear a stool scrape against the hardwood floor, as it seems Dad is rooted to his spot in my doorway, silent as can be.

Eventually, as I knew he would, he clears his throat and walks over to my bed. I have neither the patience nor the respect for him to look up from my tear-soaked pillow. Quite frankly, I've had enough of his bullshit. And it doesn't help that I already know what's coming.

"Ari, baby," he coos, as he did when I was little. Too bad I'm no longer a three-year-old who can be soothed immediately when Daddy comes around. I grumble unintelligibly into my pillow.

As he figures that I have nothing of value to say, he continues. "Please, look at me."

I don't budge, don't move an inch.

He sighs. "Why won't you talk to me? Is it something I've done, or said? You can be frank with me, Arianna. Go on, say something."

I laugh into my pillow; it's a half-maniacal laugh. He doesn't know. He hasn't got a clue, not the slightest idea! What's setting me off, Papa? Oh… My hands clench into fists and I hit the side of my bed.

"…What's so funny?" I can hear the genuine confusion in his voice. I can practically _see _his eyebrows come together, his thinking cap on, his fingers pushing his hair off his forehead in a gesture I too have become dependent on.

"You," I grumble, "you're unbelievable." It's like I spit the last two words, they are nasty and biting as they come off my tongue. I've moved my face from my pillow and take in the Seattle skyline. I remain stubborn, refusing to face Dad.

"Well, I've grown accustomed to hearing that frequently, but not from you…or with such a negative connotation."

Ugh, he's in his smart-ass mood. Fine, two can play that game. I've had the best teacher, Mr. smart-mouthed Grey himself.

"Cut the crap, Dad. Nobody else knows your controlling attributes as well as I do. You don't have _any idea_ what this could possibly be about?"

He pauses for a moment, and then I feel the side of the bed slope downward slightly as my dad sits down next to me. His weight shifts again as he shrugs. "No, Arianna. I do not." He's trying the gentle voice crap on me again. To coax it out of me, I think.

"Jeez, Dad, for such an intelligent guy, you sure have trouble in the whole common-sense side of things. Unless you're spewing bullshit, as usual, and you're just avoiding the subject because of your deep-seated issues with confrontation."

"Now, you watch it, Arianna Marie, or so help me God-"

My jaw clenches. I let out a breath, hurl myself off the bed, and then I roar. " _YOU ARE KEEPING ME AWAY FROM A LIFE THAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE, YOU'RE A SHIT FATHER! YOU CLAIM YOU ARE PROTECTING ME BUT IN REALITY, YOU JUST HIDE ME HERE, WHERE YOU KNOW YOU CAN CONTROL ME. GOD DAMNIT, DAD! SO HELP _YOU, _DAD? OH, NO. NONONONO. NO. I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS FROM YOU. I CAN'T STAY TEN-YEARS-OLD AND CONTENT BEING STUCK WITHIN THESE WALLS." _I am out of breath, red in the face, and gulping oxygen like it's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. 

I hear a plate clatter on the floor downstairs, shattering, and my mother's hushed stream of expletives. My outburst has taken her by surprise. My father, on the other hand, is displaying an array of emotions, lightening-fast on his expressive face. First there is shock. Then anger, then surprise, then hurt, until finally settling into a look of calculated coldness before he gathers himself to address me.

He moves so he is about three inches from my face. I am trapped, all way of escape and avoidance eclipsed by his proximity. For a second or two I expect a blaring yell, and I cringe in anticipation. But wait, I know better. Dad doesn't yell when he's angry. He hisses, like a snake.

"This. Is. What. You. Have. To. Say. To. Your. _Father? _The one who has given you _everything, everything imaginable? _You have no right, you ungrateful, stupid, _stupid _little girl. I could take you across my knee right now, if you continue to behave this way. Quit it. I won't tolerate this from you. Not for a second."

This hurts more than it would have if he'd chosen to yell. To be called ungrateful, when I pride myself on forgetting the obnoxiously expensive life that I have been forced to lead, on staying true to myself while appreciating my good fortune…it's unfathomable. I know my eyes have betrayed me, showing that it stung more than I am willing to admit. But I can also be cold. After an instant, I feel distant, hard, calculated. I am not stupid. I am not a little girl. To submit myself to such debasement, as to be physically punished by a parent at this age…no. _No. I will not live this way._ I am a _woman, _a woman who has finally made up her mind.

Though I have the urge to rage again, I control my voice, soften it. "You know what this is really about, don't you?"

My change in tack momentarily disarms my father. I continue, "You won't let me go out…" my voice trails off towards the end, making my statement almost seem like a question.

His eyebrows lift in comprehension. "No," he says firmly, "no I will not." He begins pacing the floor, back and forth, back and forth. I wipe my face in the most unladylike way with the back of my arm. Eye makeup smears down from my elbow to my wrist, and I play with my hands in my lap as I sit up to look at my dad.

"Will you at least tell me why?" My voice is barely a whisper by now. I look him squarely in the eye, and my father's business-y exterior melts away until he's just a father again.

"I simply don't trust anyone, Arianna. No one, in my opinion, is worthy enough of my daughter. Ever since Ana was practically beaten to a pulp by that asshole…and you were _inside her! A baby!_" He is staring at me, but his eyes are unseeing; he is reliving some painful memory of the past. I know he's referring to Jack Hyde, a story I've heard hundreds of times by now.

I get up and hug him. The gesture catches him by surprise, and Dad flinches for a second before he accepts me into his arms. He rubs gentle circles into my back, and I cry again. It makes me cry, really cry, but not for the reason you might think. I am feeling so many different things right now. I've done it. I've fooled my dad.

And as difficult as it may be, I know what I have to do. If I want to live my life, I must run away. I must run away and never come back.


End file.
